Blown Away
by Hatsoff343
Summary: Based off of Carrie Underwood's song "Blown Away," a new york girl is forced to go back to a town she deserted and once again face the horrors of her past, and, hopefully, find the road to forgiveness with the help of a love interest


Life can teach you the strangest lessons, only proving themselves to be useful later on in your life.

Like this one: _Always look forward, never back_.

It's a true fact, for if one looks back, they see something they cannot change no matter what: their past. No matter how nasty and gruesome, a past cannot change or alter unless it's done in the present-and even _then_ it's said to be "too late".

I can relate to that.

So I set down my suitcase on the dusty dirt road, right beside my matching blue bag. Parked about a good five miles away from the small, dingy town of Delvin, Oklahoma, I stopped to stare down at it from the hilltop, leaned against my truck with my arms crossed and tried to let my feelings simmer down.

It's quiet. As if no one has dared to stir, it's like the silence of a grand "Welcome Home." I know they're down there though. All 100 of them-and I _know_ they can see me. Most likely everyone's at their back windows, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the silver Ford F150 pickup truck and its big-shot owner. Honestly, I don't blame them. I didn't call, and I certainly didn't mail.

Not for nine years.

No, I hadn't even planned on coming back to this hell-hole since I left it for the big city of New York-_hell _any_ city far enough away_-nine years ago. Yep, right out of High School at age 18 I took my beat-up Chevy and headed out Northeast to find a new life for myself; one without ever having to look back on the past.

And I did.

Found myself a great job at a Children's Hospital, helping the kids gets their shots and medications as well as laughing and playing with them. It was a wonderful job that paid extremely well and got me into being the Nurse at a Private school for New York's richest, after a group of five of their best students had to come in, incessantly bleeding even, from a few blocks over. Seems that they had gotten themselves into a little brawl with some thug kids and lost. They were the saddest when I had to take a short leave, and I honestly wish, standing here now, that I could just turn back around and pretend that that phone call had never happened; to just go back up North where the kids are waiting for me to take care of them, with their warm smiles and tales of their teachers and problems. The simple bliss of an easy life most teenagers have these days.

Sadly, though, that thought seemed impossible as I heaved a big sigh. That phone call was from our old neighbor, John Geddy. When he called me that Thursday afternoon, I knew that the result of answering it would be to go back to Delvin. I don't even know how he got my current number since I changed it four times from the different area codes. Anywho, when I was through talking to him-_more like listening to him_-I politely told him to go bother someone else in town about it and that it wasn't my problem. He didn't buy it that I was "the maid," but he rarely did when I tried to fake my accents before. I hung up on him and wouldn't take any more of his repetitive calls-That is, until someone else was on the line that final time.

The Oklahoma state trooper's commanding officer: Mr. Andrew Jackson LeDecky.

When I was little, we would only catch short words of the troopers, our eyes wide with excitement. We would be so lucky to have them, especially LeDecky, come and visit us, and yet we didn't know what their presence actually meant. It meant death, destruction, and a matter of state emergency. It meant serious crimes and unlawful acts of injustice. It meant brutality, and it was something I willed with what little there was of my heart that it wouldn't happen to Delvin.

Guess I didn't will hard enough.

Yes, the little town of Delvin, Oklahoma-_which hadn't been on the map until a few years ago_-was visited by the state troopers and, worse, the very man who led them to battle. Who knew, right? Though it didn't surprise me of what he spoke to me about over the phone: _"I assume that you are Carrie Sophia Melkin Rose. Miss Rose, my name is Andrew LeDecky of the Oklahoma police force and I have to order your return home to the town of Delvin, Oklahoma. There has been an upset in the monitored drug trade that has been traced to your household. If you do not comply and return home within the week we will be forced to bring you here ourselves as well as have the New York state troopers to visit you at your place of work. Remember, within the week. We look forward to your arrival, Miss Rose. Have a pleasant evening._"

Pleasant evening my great aunt's petunia! He definitely had threatened me to the point of getting his little buddies in New York to forcibly drag me down here. And he _assumed_ it was me? It was just a message and he goes jabbering on about a personal issue-not that it concerns me, but still! Plus, who _monitors_ a drug trade? Though I'm not surprised where the upset was, I just can't believe that I had to come back. So much for my blissful nine-year streak.

With another heavy sigh I picked up my bags to throw them in the back of the truck, buckled my seatbelt once inside the driver seat and sat there to pray. I prayed to God that I could get out of there quickly; to be over and done with this whole trip in a matter of hours even. After all, He's the one who got me out in the first place. Without Him, I would have never found my old Chevy for sale in a junkyard on the walk home from church the summer I was fifteen.

Farms pass me on the way down: the town's main benefactors. From large to small they shrink as I drove down the worn dirt road, cranking up Castle Walls by T.I.

Those kinds of songs seem to speak to a deeper part of me-you feel it too, don't you? That "it's not your fault" attitude you get from the lyrics. To me, the music is always just a cover for the true meaning that's never really heard but mindlessly sung along to. Yeah, there are no music stations around here or anything technologically musical unless you count Tundra Tom. Pale as the whitest snow and the only one here that can play 14 different instruments if you include several body parts. A real musical master-well, if he's still alive.

"_If I should tumble, if I should fall, Would any one hear me screaming behind these castle walls? There's no one here at all, Behind these castle walls…._" I hit the pause button on my iPod. Alas, parked next to the Delvin Pub Mug, I was here. Other than mine, there were two other cars in the dirt lot, all rusty. The rest were a multitude of new and used tractors. I couldn't help but smile at them as I got out. Things like these seem so different to outsiders, but to me…

No, I really am an outsider now, as I saw some of the kids peek out at me from behind the Pub's clear windows. Their parents obviously couldn't control the little tykes excitement, but can you blame them? Someone brand new, and, better, from _New York_, came to their small town.

Yeah, I'm such an outsider.

A few things about me have changed since I was last inside this no-secrets rag-town. For one: my name. Back here I was "Care-Bear" Melkin, the cutie-patootie blond girl with a skip in her step and a twinkle in her beautiful brown eyes-_Gotcha_. My eyes are green. I wasn't kidding about the "Care-bear" part since my Momma-_bless her soul_-used to call me that, but after she died… I wouldn't let _anyone_ taint her terms of endearment, though for some I had no choice; one rank human man in particular personally felt obligated for ruining it. No, I wasn't perky but I was blonde, blonde and miserable with a frown on my face and death in my eyes. Everyone thought I was possessed, which was proven false every Sunday and Wednesday when I went to church. They all knew why I was like that, especially the neighbors, yet they all acted differently towards me; too overly friendly or far distant from me. It didn't matter to me as long as I escaped.

Sucks that I'm back, though.

So I took my momma's maiden name Rose and pushed the Melkin to a silent M. I dyed my hair a nice, deep, chestnut-brown and grew it out shortly passed my collarbone. Heck, I even added some nice full bangs since I didn't have my Grandfather's widow's peak. My momma's thin eyebrows that I inherited were always a bit darker than my hair so I only dyed them a bit. My body grew too, nice and curvy for any potential suitors. Though it's too bad I can't let anyone in without them snooping through the skeletons in my closet. That's the worst. Thank the holy Lord for one-night-stands!

With one last deep breath and one last hitch of my black cowboy boots over my skinny jeans, I entered the wooden bar to stark stillness and stares from…-Is that…? Well I'll be darned, old man Jenkins is still manning the wrap-around bar and still kicking! Paused in polishing a glass to stare me down before he raised an eyebrow.

Looking around as the windowed double doors close behind me, I actually saw many of the kids I used to go to school and church with. Many of the guys are either buff or working on their beer bellies with their wives most likely, by the looks of it, doing the same thing. It was kind of cute how there were little four-seater tables and chairs instead of the cheap booths they used to have.

There's "Gorgeous Tilly Phinklestein" with her three kids and beer-belly husband who looks to be…Dan Tuckers? The High School Quarterback? From what I remember they were the farthest from social groups as a cat is from bath time. To my right at another little four-seater table sat Will Otterson, the math wiz of eleventh grade, looking fit. And I was so sure the used-to-be-nerd would want out of here too. What a shame. He surely could've made a killing in New York, or _anywhere_, really. However, by the looks of the dark hand gripping his bicep, it appeared as if he made the right choice to settle here.

One of the only girls who talked to me back then sat beside the burly redhead now. Gloria Saunders. Old Glory herself was staring at me in awe, something flashing in those big brown eyes of hers. Was it…-No, she couldn't possibly recognize me. I mean I'm wearing a cerulean blue blouse with white trim that I distinctly told her I'd never wear again after that horrible date-less night at prom.

I do regret leaving her behind. Without so much as a "Thank you for being there" too...

Being reminded that I wasn't here to catch up made me wrench my eyes from her, so I then went up to the bar and took a seat. Jenkins kept staring at me for a few more moments before he asked me what I wanted.

With that I cranked up my southern accent, considering it was dead-to-gone before, and said with a smirk, "Any hard scotches yeh have here, Sir. Might be down here fer quite awhile, so I should at least stock up for the big season now."

After standing there for another good minute, giving me another once over, Old Jenkins finally nodded his head and turned around to get me that drink. I swear it was as if there wasn't just an awkward yet deafening silence two seconds ago, for everyone went right on talking about their day with whoever, and even the kids went back to playing and chasing each other around. It took me for a loop for a second as if everyone was in sync somehow. Creepy.

"Here ya are, little miss. One glass of our hardest. Enjoy." He set down the glass and went back to his polishing. It really was like him to not ask strangers their business. _"Unless they're causin' me trouble or I'm apart of why they're here, I've got no reason te pry, lest they spill their guts on my counter themselves_" he'd say. I tried to hide my smirk as I took a sip of the burning liquid. Some things never change.

"Hey there, Jenkins! Hear 'bout the Melkin house? Caught dealin' agin." A real lumber jack, complete with a red-plaid shirt, jeans with suspenders, a long white beard and combat boots took a stool three seats away to my left. He'd definitely be big business for the lumber industry if he wasn't 72.

Jenkins shook his head, "Melkin's a wreck. Been like that since Marleen passed. Never been the same. There's surely not enuff prayers in Oklahoma to tear that man out of the dark. As sure as rain falls."

I snorted, "There's not even enough rain in _Oklahoma_ to wash the sins out of that house…"

Catching myself before I began my rant on how not even enough prayers in the _world_ would help that man and blown my so-far-successful cover, I took another swig and met the two old men's gazes. The lumberjack glared at me as if to say he had the juicy steak and I stole it right out of his hand while Jenkins just raised an eyebrow at me rather coolly. I heard a stool scratch against the oak panel flooring behind me too, so I tried to rustle up a quick cover.

"Look," I said, pointing to them with the glass in my hand, my perfect "I'm-drunk-ignore-what-I-say" shpeel, "if anyone ever has to resort to dealin' fer comfort then I say the poor son's too far in the dark to even _think _of bein' pulled out! Where I come from, these things start out young and grow far and fast unless it's helped by psychiatrists and a couple of doctors, maybe a self-help group or two if necessary. You just watch! Soon he'll be shootin' carnies while singin' Celine Dion just to prove himself a point! Y'all just wait!" There, does that sound drunk enough? Like a wimpy northerner with an accent whose small liver just can't take hard southern liquor?

The stool beside me on my right creaked a bit with protest as someone sat down. Most likely the person who got up behind me just a few moments ago, though I had no idea what encouraged them to seat themselves right next to the outsider. Frankly, I didn't want to know, so I stared the men down for a few more moments before downing the rest f my drink. Grant it, I was born here in this town, but being up north seemed to weaken my standard alcoholic limits. Downing that scotch sent me for a whirl as I gripped my head at the onslaught of the rush. The lumberjack threw his head back to laugh about some rude comment I couldn't hear. _Smart move, old man_.

Jenkins simply shook his head, though whether it was at me or the old man I'll never know, for I turned to the daring Delviner who probably thought me to be a "good sport" to pick on. Even as I stared at her, I had thought it to be a kid trying to act like the "rough'n'tough grown-ups" as I had watched many tykes do in the past. What I didn't expect was Gloria to be sitting there next to me.

Leaning on her elbow with her beautifully curled head resting on her dark hand, she gave me one of the sweetest of smiles that I have ever seen, leading me to believe that she was finally happy with her life. That was great news, considering how much it hurt me to see her being picked on back then, though her torture seemed to be second to only my own.

Gloria held that precious smile as she warmly said to me in that alto timbre of hers, "T's a bit funny seeing you in our small rut-of-a-town, since we don't get many northerners down here-None at all, actually. Make's a Delvin girl wonder what someone of your fashion would be interested in to drop by here…"

As much as I wanted to smile, to hug her close to me and whisper the "I'm home" that would somehow make this entire visit just a small bit better, I kept my frivolous drunkard act churning, even managing to create a few hiccups, though whether they were real or not I wasn't able to tell.

"I'll tell you, little miss! Business is business no matter where you are and my business is to leave this place before I think you nice folk to be just another illusion of my drunken memory-_that's_ when I'll really go wild! …Though it sure has been awhile since I saw such a friendly face for greetin' a mere stranger." Offering but a small smile to her, I placed my money for the drink on the table, excused myself from old Jenkins with an appreciative nod, the lumber jack with a sneer, and a false tip of my hat to Gloria as I headed out to the parking lot, wondering what else I could do to prolong the inevitable while checking up on a former life.

I heard Gloria's light footsteps before I heard Will's protests for her not to bother the stranger. Regardless, I kept walking towards my truck, not wanting to encourage her. Just where did my pride _end_?

"Carrie!" you could hear the smile in her voice as she stopped, huffing with satisfaction when I turned back to see her. A smirk, seemingly brighter than her previous smile that made me want to curl up in a ball and pray to the Lord to deliver me back to New York, especially when she accompanied it with a cumbersome: "Welcome home."

It hurts. It hurts to return to a place you once deemed a past chapter of your life, never again to be read over as it's placed in the far back corner of the bookshelf, dust collecting. For me, this was one of those warm-hearted moments I saw in countless movies; ones my colleagues and students gushed about, letting me wonder what it would feel like if I lived in one of those cookie-cutter moments. Well, now I know.

And the guilt was killing me.

I stared at her, my best friend who deserved the world on a silver platter for all the hell she put up with while sticking by my side. I stared at her and couldn't even smile. I wanted to cry, run up to her, and hug her close to me-but I didn't. I couldn't, not when all I had on my mind was getting through the imminent nightmare I was about to relive and going back home to New York, never to look back.

So, I shook my head, "Too wrong of words, little miss, _far_ too wrong. And you, tall brute with the wonderment of Einstein," I nodded to Gloria, "You make sure you take real good care of her, you hear? She's a fine pearl you've got." I smirked when Will nodded, putting a big hand on her small shoulder, but that was all I could do looking at her frowning face. Yeah, she too was upset with how far I was taking this charade.

I watched her unmoving form with glances in my rear-view mirror as I pulled out of the parking lot and steered myself onto the dusty road towards the lower part of town. I watched until her beautiful pouting face was out of sight, struggling with the heavy weight on my chest. Still, I pushed on and thought of what I was going to do once I reached my destination.

Ignoring the spectators coming out of their old-fashioned stores to see whom the owner of the car driving down was and her business, I plugged in my iPod again to drown out the silence as I continued down the dirt road. If memory serves, I had a good thirty-minute drive from town to the house. Fortunately for me, that delay calmed my nerves a bit, seeing the vast, lush farmland and animals by the pathway. At least the animals didn't lift their heads to see any potential piece of gossip in the form of passers by.

This was bliss, lasting the thirty minutes I stretched to forty-five with my fifteen miles per hour. But, sadly, all good things must come to an end, and mine consisted of a quaint little house with blue shutters, a white-painted front porch equipped with two blue rocking chairs, and white shingles. It would have been very welcoming if two factors weren't accounted for; one being that there were about twenty police vehicles parked in the large front yard and twice as many officers roaming in, out, and around the vicinity. The second being that no matter how well kept and pretty the outside looked, the inside was probably equivalent to a train wreck's aftermath.

That's how it always was…after Momma died.

It wasn't until I parked my truck and stared at my old house that Gloria's words echoed in my mind, making me laugh. _"Welcome Home"? My dearest Gloria, _nothing_ about this scene suggests that I'm welcomed back._ Closing my eyes at the thought, I somehow believed that when I reopened them, I would find myself back in my comfy bed in New York. I would find all of this to be just another bad dream, but a knock on the driver's side window told me that it was simply wishful thinking on my part.

A man, seeming to be about my age, grinned at me from outside the window, waving his hand in greeting. _"Who are you?_" I wanted ask, knowing that I've never seen him in my life. Surely I would've remembered someone as handsome as he was, with his wavy brown hair and stunning hazel eyes-not to mention a fan-_tastic_ physique that screamed: "I'm in shape!" I mean, I sort of remembered the young faces of my past tormentors yet his didn't match _any _of them.

Who was he?

"Hello, Ma'am," he said as I got out of my car, "I apologize for my rudeness, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave the premises, for we are under an ongoing investigation. We would much appreciate it if you would depart and also remind those in town of this as well. We thank you very much and hope you have a nice day."

Wow. So his sweet expression of friendliness was just to keep those nosy old women out of the area? It annoyed me a bit to think that the townspeople would go so far as come up here to see how the Melkins messed-up lives were playing out. But it wasn't too surprising; after all, ever since I was little our lives have been like a bad soap opera to them.

…Then again, this handsome man _did_ ask me nicely to leave. How could I _possibly_ pass up a kind offer like that? Smiling brightly back at him, I replied, "Oh my! Such a nice boy we have here. All right, sugar, I'll just get my boots in gear and be out of your hair in a second. Just taking a little peak is all. I'll get goin' right now." And I was just about to shut my door again to start my car when a large hand, attached to a beefy blond guy, held onto the handle. _Crap_, I thought, _and I was so close too!_

"Woah there, sweetie. You're not going anywhere until I see some identification. As the shrimp said, this is a private investigation and I need to know who to fine for trespassing," said the brute after he motioned me to step out of the vehicle.

Getting out of my car again, I shut the door despite his grip on the handle and looked from the now frowning hot guy to the impassive face of the goliath. Maybe it was the overwhelming heat, or possibly because I was in a place I swore to myself never to return to, or maybe it was even the fact that I drove down here from New York and slept in my care for three nights, but I was _not_ a happy camper, especially when the guy threatened to fine after I was threatened to _come down here_.

"A fine? Y'all're _really_ gonna fine me after all this trouble I went through gettin' here? Heck, I should fine _you_ for trespassing on personal property! Now _I'll_ advise that _you_ get off this lawn and we can all go back home to live out our peaceful lives. Eh?" Yet despite my angry southern lady speech, I tossed the brute my wallet, which he caught on his chest, giving me a hard stare. After all, I still didn't want to mess with a state trooper; old fears are hard to grow out of.

"Please, ma'am," the hottie soothed, which must be his main job on the force, "calm down a little bit. You wouldn't want to upset a state trooper's sergeant; the penalties are quite severe and it would pain me to see such a nice lady locked up." Despite his tone and words, he irked me a bit, for I recognized that fake way of getting someone to comply; the kids used it on their teachers in school often enough, even telling me about it and thinking that it was funny.

I missed them.

Fear rose up from my stomach, stuffing itself back down before it reached my eyes with the knowledge that I just _threw my wallet_ at Sergeant Andrew Jackson LeDecky, the guy who practically bludgeons _children_ for doing something threatening to Oklahoma society. No wonder the man looked the way he did with his black shirt, cargo pants and blonde hair cropped to his scalp. He looked like he could bludgeon _me_ with just a flick of his wrist, but that was exactly the reason why I struggled to keep my expression sane, for he was a predator, and they could always smell fear.

"Sergeant LeDecky, I reckon?" Crossing my arms over my chest, I raised an eyebrow at him.

"That would be correct, and you must be Miss Rose. Please, there's no need to fake the accent on my account. I already know the reason why you've used it and I assure you that we are the only ones here." Meaning that all the Delviners were a good thirty minutes away and wouldn't be able to even sniff the scent of my return.

I sighed, taking back my wallet, "Very well. So, Sargent, are you going to tell me why you threatened my peaceful lifestyle and ordered my arrival here so I can go back? Or will you simply stand there and make me wait it out to fully grant me the 'patient southern hospitality' I've oh so been missing for the past nine years?" I had a bad feeling it was the second.

He then crossed _his_ arms, "First off,"-_he pointed to the hot guy behind him_-"this is David Widdon, my go-to and your prospective watcher for the investigation. He'll be sticking by you for the duration of it."

"Woah, woah, woah-wait a darn minute!" I waved my hands, looking at LeDecky incredulously, "Are you saying that he's my _babysitter_?" He's not serious, right?

But LeDecky gave a short nod, "Yes, he is. Until we have all the information we need. You'll be staying here, Miss Rose. We all will."

I shook my head, trying to fully grasp this, "So not only do I have to stay until this thing is over, but I'll be watched, and sleeping inside that damned house? Have you even been _inside_ it? How are you going to fit all of those men in there?" This was _not _happening…!

"I assure you, Miss Rose, I have taken everything into consideration and my men are fully prepared for a stakeout. You, on the other hand, will be staying inside. We've…cleared out a space for you."

Oh. So he _has_ been inside. That should have been a no-brainer but then again mine seems to be malfunctioning.

I tried for a different kind of approach to the "let's all go home" topic: "…Sir, while I appreciate the offer, you do realize that this operation could take months if it's information you need? My Fa-…that man is stubborn. That is, _if_ he's still kicking. If not then you're wasting your time because I know nothing."

Now _he_ sighed, "Yes, well…that has also been taken into consideration. Which is why you're here, Miss Rose. It came to our knowledge that no person could communicate with him better than his own loving daughter."

My eyes were the size of saucers-_that_ I knew for sure. He…th-that man is still…? True, I should have seen this coming, I should have known from the moment I requested for some time off of my job and even after I pressed the replay button on my receiver that this would happen. I…I just…! And _loving daughter_? Did they not meet that horrid man? Did the troopers _really_ believe that a family member would be his confidant if the authorities were not? Sure, in a normal family setting that would be true, but not here, not in Delvin, Oklahoma, and _not_ in this residence.

_Not in my family_.

I was about to reply to the Sergeant, to tell him that I would accept any fine at all as long as I didn't have to do this, but I was stopped by a scratchy deep voice, screaming:

"GIT YER HANDS OFF OVE MEH, YA PIG! YA FAT PIECE OF SH*T! I'LL KILL YA! I'LL RIP THAT FAT RIGHT OFF YER SH*TTY BODY! LEMME GO!"

My heart stopped beating in my chest at the moment I heard those familiar words. Time seemed to stop I slowly turned my head towards the house to where the others around me were staring. My fingers trembled as my eyes widened and the urge to flee took hold of my being.

There, in the doorway, holding on to the doorframe with one sickly wrinkled hand and trying to kick the officers pulling him back in with his gangly leg, in the nads, no less, struggled the foulest man I have ever come to know. His blonde hair turned gray and wispy, his muscles not as strong looking as they used to be-but by the way he tried to fight off those two men, he was still strong. He wore a stained gray shirt and ripped green-striped boxers. His face from what I saw…was somewhat wrinkled, his strong jaw sagging a bit with his slurred words, his skin had a grayish tint to it, most likely from the drugs. But out of his entire appearance, it was his eyes, those eyes I'd seen constantly all those years ago, now red and bloodshot that made me want to scream. And when those pale-gray irises connected with my green gaze over the large crowd, I found I couldn't move a single inch. I was locked in place, as I was before all those horrid years ago.

I was afraid.

With his eyes growing wide in recognition, he began to struggle harder against the officers, the veins in his muscles straining as anger radiated from him in waves. I was thankful that my tears blurred him from my sight, but I couldn't hide from his words. No one could.

"_BITCH_! YA FU*KIN' _WHORE_! I WILL KILL YA! D'YA HEAR ME, BITCH?! I WILL FU*KIN' _KILL YA_!"

That settled it. You were wrong, Gloria. _Now_ I'm home.


End file.
